Be My Mistress
by Angelo Della Magnolia
Summary: He is exactly how she remembers him. His hair is combed back and his smile is the same charming one he always wore when their eyes met. Everything about him is exactly how she remembers and it gives her such uncontrolled bliss and unfathomable terror. Written for Round 7 of Season 4 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition as Chaser 3.


_**Disclaimer: I do not own any aspects of Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. Do you think Sirius Black would have died if I did?!**_

 _ **Written for Round 7 of The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition as Chaser 3 of the Chudley Cannons.**_

 _ **CHASER 3: Write about one of the eight pairings chosen by your team's seeker.**_

 _ **(**_ _ **S.S Gin n' Tonic — Ginny/Tom)**_

 _ **Prompts:**_

*2.) (quote) 'Just have a little faith.' — Michael Scofield, Prison Break

*5.) (word) brush ( _changed the tense to 'brushes'._ )

*10.) (creature) boggart

 _ **The rest of the Challenges and Competitions are written at the bottom.**_

 _ **A huge thanks to the following people for being spectacular and awesome and willing to beta this for me. :3 I love you all.**_

 _ **Mary, my wonderful Captain.**_

 _ **Ned, the awesome one.**_

 _ **Queenie, the one I don't really know but she's wonderful.**_

 _ **Word Count: 2142**_

* * *

Not much has changed, Ginny muses as her eyes flicker across the enchanted portraits that line the walls. Some of them wave at her, cheerful smiles plastered on their faces.

 _Cheerful_. Too cheerful, like she used to be — _no, stop_.

Ginny smiles back and gives a nod of acknowledgment, pretending that the darkness lurking in the back of her mind doesn't exist.

She pauses in front of the door guarded by stone gargoyles. Their heads turn to look at her, stone eyes as cold and empty as she feels. "Mrs. Potter—"

"Weasley. My name is Ginny Weasley," she snaps. The fiery passion she is so well known for rises and, for a split second, she can feel fire course through her veins and life spark into her eyes.

"Very well, Ms. Weasley." She feels the fire shudder, and as quickly as it came, it dies into ashes.

Heads turn as she walks in. Though they try to hide it, and Ginny tries to ignore it, their eyes all flicker to her hand, devoid of any jewelry. Empty of any ring.

It is Neville who breaks the stifling silence with a grin as he exclaims, perhaps too loudly, that he'll bring out the Firewhiskey and everyone must at least take a drink. All she can think about is how forced his voice sounded, how fake. No. Ginny doesn't think like that — but he does and if he does then she must too.

The next thing she knows, everyone is laughing and drinking,and she is standing in the corner of the room, ignoring the party held in her honor. She absentmindedly swirls the Firewhiskey around the half empty champagne flute in her hand. Neville is beside her, saying something about Professor Mirth, who can't stop laughing at everything. The thought makes her sick — no, the thought makes him sick. Ginny doesn't care.

Neville seems to realize her absentness. He mistakes the darkness in her eyes for loneliness and gives her a sympathetic smile. She wonders when he became such a stranger to her feelings. They used to be so close, ever since the year they restarted Dumbledore's army.

"Just have a little faith, Gin. The others are just shocked; they'll get over it, and Harry—" Neville falters. He looks away awkwardly. "I'm sure Harry will come around eventually."

Ginny says nothing. She lifts the glass to her lips and throws her head back, letting the burning liquid sear down her throat.

* * *

 _Ginny flops onto her bed, burrowing her face into the cool, red sheets as she waits for everyone else to retreat into their own beds. Soon, silence greets her and Ginny sits up to close the curtains so that she'll have some privacy in her own little square, her own little world._

 _She waits some more, just in case. When she's sure everyone is snoring in their beds, exhausted from the day's classes, her hand scrambles to grab the book hidden underneath her pillow. The book is completely black, a stark contrast to the soft gold of the pillow and the warm red of the sheets._

 _Ginny beams as she settles into bed, the book clutched tightly in her hand. She looks lovingly upon her secret, gently tracing the worn edges of the diary and briefly hugging the book to her chest before finally turning the cover._

 _The pages are blank, as always. Ginny reaches under her pillow again, this time, to find the quill she'd hidden there. It was a self-inking quill that she had bought with her own sickles, the stash she had hidden in a box under her bed for special occasions and emergencies._

 _ **Hello, Tom.**_ _She scribbles, being careful to use her best handwriting._ _Her breath involuntarily catches, and she waits with baited breath for his answer. His writing is just how she remembers it: thin and flowing, all the letters ending with a sharp flick, like he pressed his quill against the paper harder in those moments. So commanding and eloquent next to her own childish scrawl._

 _ **Hello, Ginny. I have missed you.**_

 _Ginny feels a blush creep onto her cheeks, and in that moment she is glad he can't see her. Her quill hovers above the paper, pausing just before the tip touches the paper. Her eyes squeeze shut and she decides that, Merlin, she is a Gryffindor, she might as well write what she thinks._

 _ **I'm so glad you can't see me right now.**_

 _His reply is immediate._

 _ **Why is that, Ginny?**_

 _She hesitates again. Ginny bites her lip and pushes the quill back onto the paper, forcing herself to write the words into the diary before she changes her mind. She isn't sure where this sudden bravery is coming from, but she always feels stronger when she talks with Tom. He makes her feel special, confident, like she could do anything and he would never judge._

 _ **Because you make me blush, and nobody except for Harry has ever done that before.**_

 _Ginny is tempted to slam the diary shut and hide it back under her pillow; she is terrified of Tom's reply._

 _ **I am honoured, Ginny. I am sure you look even more beautiful than normal with your cheeks flushed.**_

 _Relief, pride, and happiness flood through her at his response, and she feels light and fizzy in her stomach. Tom pauses, and Ginny is glad because she feels her cheeks are so warm that they must be as red as her hair. She shuts her eyes tightly and breathes rapidly, desperately trying to calm herself. She gains control of herself briefly before his next reply unravels her._

 _ **It would be an honour to see you.**_

 _Ginny doesn't think before her quill slams into the dairy, frantically scrawling down her answer._

 _ **How? Does that mean I can meet you too? I want to meet you—**_

 _Tom cuts her off and begins to write something. Ginny stops her frantic scrawling as her hands tighten around the diary's cover, both excited and terrified of what he will say._

 _ **I can be real. I can attend classes with you and be there for you. I can help you win Harry if you wish. I can be with you, I can stand by your side. I can be what you want — if you let me.**_

 _Ginny's hand trembles and she has to try three times before she can successfully write anything coherent. In the end, she can only write one word before her hand shakes so much she has to stop._

 _ **How?**_

 _Tom doesn't reply. Instead, the diary starts to glow as a phantom wind starts to blow, causing the pages to shuffle back and forth so quickly they may rip. A tendril of darkness starts to slither out of the diary, and more follow close behind it. The darkness starts to melt onto her sheets as it crawls closer to her. Ginny's eyes widen in horror as she lets out a high-pitched scream, but the darkness consumes her before anyone can hear._

* * *

Ginny wakes with a mumbled curse and her head hurting worse than any bludger hit. The world spins and topples. Ginny shouldn't have drank so much Firewhiskey, she knows her tolerance isn't what it used to be. She thrusts a hand out, clutching for some stability to pull herself up on.

Her hand brushes something refreshingly cool. Ginny latches her hand onto the object and pulls herself up, jumping back in surprise when what she thought was a solid handhold moves. It takes a few seconds for her eyes refocus, and she manages to comprehend that she had grabbed the knob of a closet door and that by lifting herself up, she had opened the closet.

The pounding in her head momentarily distracts her, and Ginny shuts her eyes wishing for blessed silence. She raises a hand to rest against her temple and groans.

Ginny's scream is piercing when her eyes snap open to see what was greeting her.

He is exactly how she remembers him. His hair is combed back and his smile is the same charming one he always wore when their eyes met. Everything about him is exactly how she remembers and it gives her such uncontrolled bliss and unfathomable terror.

"T—Tom," she croaks, unsure of what to say or do or feel. Her eyes start to well with tears and she hates herself for it. She isn't even sure why she's crying. "No. Voldemort," she amends, her hand working automatically to find her wand.

He just smiles that same charming smile, that enchanting smile that made her heart flutter so many years ago, and she feels herself break. "Gin," he purrs, his voice as smooth as silk. "Gin, my darling. My beautiful Gin. I've missed you."

She slams her hands over her ears, desperate to block out his voice, to block out _him_. "Stop," she whispers between sobs. "Stop. Stop. Stop." Ginny doesn't know when her whispers turn into screams, or when the screams, in turn, morph into hoarse pleas.

"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny."

Her name sounds like a curse once it passes through his lips. A beautiful curse that leaves her feeling empty and lonely.

"Harry doesn't love you anymore. Maybe he never did."

 _Not true. Not true. Not true. Tom must be lying_ — _no, Tom doesn't lie. No. No. No._

"Don't you love me, Ginny? I know you love me."

She does. She loves him so much.

"More than you love Harry. Is that why he left you?"

She loves Harry. She does. She really does, but she loves Tom more.

"Ginny, don't worry. Harry's gone but I'm still here."

Yes. Tom is here. Tom will protect her. Tom will save her. She needs Tom. Tom loves her. The thought brings more tears to her eyes.

"Be my mistress, Ginny. You don't need Harry. You have me."

The darkness moves slowly, almost taunting her, like it knows she is already lost. Ginny just keeps sobbing. She clings to the childish belief that if she ignores something long enough, it'll disappear. She can hear Tom laugh and she can feel the shadows swirl around her, like a coiling serpent, like the one in the Chamber—

It takes Ginny a few moments to realize the shrill screech was tearing from her throat and not just another illusion.

"Be my mistress."

"Be mine."

"Ginny, don't resist."

She can feel it. She can feel herself start to give in, she can feel it as bit by bit every inch of her breaks. "I wish I could obliviate the memories of us," she manages to choke out between the sobs still wracking her body.

The last thing Ginny remembers is darkness and Tom's smile and a distant voice yelling _Riddikulus_.

* * *

She hears the things they whisper behind her back. _Unhinged_ , they say. _Broken, traumatised, crazy_. She ignores them all. None of it matters anymore. Ever since she'd seen . . . seen Tom, nothing had mattered.

Ginny closes the door and slumps against it. She lets herself slide down until she's on the floor, hugging her knees.

Ginny has no idea where she is; she just chose a door and scrambled in. She's too tired to care. She's tired. So, so, tired. It would be easier, so much easier, to just close her eyes and never open them. Harry is gone, her friends are gone, her passion is gone, everything is gone.

Tom is gone. Tom is gone and some deprived, insane part of her wants him back. _Needs_ him back. She hates herself for it. She hates herself so much, for losing Harry, for losing Tom, for losing everything and everyone.

Her eyes flicker upwards. The room was empty except for a large object covered by a simple white sheet. Ginny stumbles towards the object. She isn't sure why, or how she even got from the door to the object, but there is something . . . something that beckons her towards it. The feeling is familiar, and Ginny distantly remembers feeling the exact same thing when she held Tom's diary.

The next thing Ginny knows, the sheet is on the floor and she is staring into a mirror with words she doesn't understand etched into the top . Except, she's not. She doesn't see herself. She doesn't see her bloodshot eyes, nor does she see the black bags that gather beneath them. She doesn't see herself.

She sees him. Tom. Smiling at her with that smile. That beautiful, sickening smile . . . and her heart flutters as she smiles back.

Tom opens his mouth and his voice echoes silkily around her. It fills her mind and she feels life flow into her veins. _Ginny, sweet Ginny. Be my mistress, Ginny._

She lays a hand on the mirror, stroking his face with the caress of a lover. "Yes, Tom."

Ginny closes her eyes and leans into the mirror.

* * *

 _ **Greek Mythology Category Challenge:**_

*Atalanta: Write about Ginny Weasley

 _ **The Quidditch Pitch:**_

*Dialogue: "I could be what you want, if you let me."

 _ **Drabble Club:**_

*Creature: Boggart

 _ **Your Favourite Hogwarts House Boot Camp Challenge:**_

*39. "I wish I could obliviate the memories of us."

 _ **Women of History Challenge:**_

*Joan of Arc: Task: Write about someone who hears voices that aren't there.

 _ **Sophie's Bookshop Challenge:**_

*(word) Mistress

*(object) Champagne Flute

*(word) Strangers

 _ **Famous Witches and Wizards Card Challenge.**_


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